Saturday night I drempt about Adam, and Sunday morning I woke up in love with him again. I'm pretty sure that's what that feeling was, even if very bad feelings went along with it. I drempt that he appologized and took me back and gave me a hug. When I woke up, I found myself thinking for a second, "Everything's ok again." Then I realized that it was just a dream, and I started feeling extremely depressed and angry at myself. But the hug had felt so GOOD. And for the first few hours of the day I had that old familiar feeling inside me... I tried to make it go away, and I guess I did, but it took a while. To top it all off, when I looked at the calendar it hit me: It was my one year anniversary of being obsessed with Adam. (It wasn't a love at first sight deal or anything. I was friends with him and then one night it just hit me.) God, of all the dates you don't want to remember. March 20th, 2004.
The day didn't go so great after that either. I had to go to church in the morning, and that always makes me anxious. I think I hate Sundays in general. Not only do I hate church, I hate getting ready for church and coming home from church and even killing time in the afternoon after church. I guess going to church at all just reminds me of a time when the day revolved around it, and I don't like that feeling. You know when I talked about experiences having smells? It's like Sunday has a smell that makes me want to curl up and die. The reason I had to go to church is that I'm playing something for Easter. Don't ask me why. It's really easy, and I couldn't play it, and that made me feel bad.
I was home alone for a while, and I litterally did curl up in a ball on the floor for a while after I got my stupid tights off. But then I gathered myself together and made some phone calls to see if we could have practice today. (Does it really matter which group this is? It's essentially the same people every time.) Mostly, Julian and I called eachother back and forth, since we're the only ones in the group who are even remotely organized. That made me feel better. I guess... I just like talking to him. We made fun of other musicians for being disorganized and laughed. It ended up being at Dave's house, and Julian's mom offered to give me a ride because my mom was out grocery shopping. That actually wasn't too awkward, which was a pleasant surprise because I've only met Julian's mom that one other time she gave me a ride.
Basically, practice failed miserably because Greg couldn't make it and we had no drummer. We kept trying to play, but it kept just sounding bad. I hate jam sessions like that - that just don't work. Apparantly, so does Julian. Dave didn't seem to mind much. He's pretty laid back. We ended up standing around telling instrument jokes in Dave's basement, and I continued to be depressed even though I don't think I showed it. Julian looked uncomfortable with the fact that we're not any more prepared than we were before. He also looked uncomfortable in Dave's basement because he's six four and the sagging insulation kept brushing the top of his head. Then my mom came and picked me up and gave Julian a ride home. Of course, she struck up a conversation with him.
"He's too funny," said my mom after he'd gotten out of the car. "Nervous though." "He's not nervous," I said. "Maybe you didn't notice it, but yeah, he is." "That's the way he always is, Mom. He's just quiet." There was a pause. "Well, at least he seems FRIENDLY. At least he makes eye contact, unlike some other people I used to know." This is not the first time my mom has compared Julian to Adam. It's definately not even the second time. I almost told her to stop doing this, but decided against it.
The depression was horrible when I got home. I knew I had a paper to write and math homework to do, but I just couldn't. I sat and stared at the wall and continued to obsess. Eventually I broke down. The first part of dinner was spent in silence. Then I broke down again in front of my parents and asked if I could take the next day off from school. They said no. I said I couldn't do my homework because I was depressed. "Over what?" said my mother. "Nothing... I don't know. It's March." This sounds stupid when you say it like this. "Well, you weren't too depressed to go shopping with me Friday. You weren't too depressed to play music with your friends today." Then she started lecturing me on my time management skills or whatever. I was humiliated. I'd admitted to being depressed to people who don't even understand what that means. At one point my mom said "Sometimes I get depressed, but you just have to keep working anyway. You have responsabilities." I'm pretty sure my mom does not get depressed the way that I get depressed. Not for weeks - sometimes months - at a time. Not for no reason. Not to the point where you can't concentrate on anything but the way you feel; where it litterally feels like your organs are heavy - like you're dragging yourself around. Not the kind of depression where you inhale and you don't feel like you're getting any oxygen, and you stand in the shower and don't have the motivation to lift your arms. This is what I felt like today. That's why I couldn't do my homework.
My parents made me stay up until I finished my math homework, but I still hadn't started my essay. That left me one night to work on it.
And I still can't believe it's been one year.
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